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Welcome to the 1940’s

Neon signs flash through the darkness on a rainy night in the city. Halos form above dimly lit street lamps. From the rooftop ballroom of the Club Dahlia in 1940’s downtown Miami, you’re listening to the sweet sounds of the Glenn Miller Orchestra.

Bring back the 1940’s

Rooftop ballrooms, inviting a soldier to dinner, the percussion of high heels across a heavy wooden floor, film noir. Lips as red as the law will allow, walking slowly on a misty morning, the buzzing of old neon. The torch song, boats made of mahogany and toy prizes made of tin, pride in appearance, Gene Tierney’s angelic glow. Black satin opera gloves, friends that sign your autograph shirt, Lux Radio Theater, riding in the rumble seat. The melody in music, handwritten letters from home, halos above street lamps in the rain, Winston Churchill. Radios as big as appliances, grilled cheese sandwiches with a dill pickle spear at Woolworth’s, the soul of our nation. Stickball, the magic of Fred and Ginger, a silver dollar from grandma, picnics in the park, letting the good guy win. Dressing up for the movies, the warmth of Christmas morning, an evening next to the radio, Bogie and Bacall. Squeezing into the photo booth with your best friend, kissing goodbye at the train station, Kilroy, the dance hall. Saturday mornings at the barber shop, sounds of children playing tag, leaning over the fence to talk to our neighbor, meeting a date at the soda fountain. The allure born of mystery, riding our bikes in the summer rain, grandma’s medicine chest, searching for four leaf clovers. Dancing until your wingtips glow, staring through display windows downtown, glass milk containers, the 1946 Wurlitzer. Making flour and water paste, a teen’s jalopy, time standing still, sending box tops for decoder rings, Sunday dinner. Hide and seek at dusk, big bands, Hollywood elegance, Superman on the radio, the lunch counter at the 5&10, fedoras.